


Flames under Erebor

by entwined_tails



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Battle, Dragons, Enormous firey monsters getting it off, M/M, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:36:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entwined_tails/pseuds/entwined_tails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A furious battle for domination ensues when a balrog climbs into Smaug's lair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flames under Erebor

Smaug stirred. There was, at first, no outward sign of it: he lay motionless atop his great mound of gold, curled right round in a circle so that the tip of his long tail rested on the scales of his slender neck. The only evidence that he was awake was the snoring: the deep rumbling purr that had echoed around the huge chamber without pause for days, weeks, months. It had stopped, leaving behind it an absolute silence.

Gradually, he began to move. Here a twitch of a clawed toe, there a flick of an ear, a sniff of a nostril. A single red eye opened half-way.

Something smelt different. His dream had been full of smells: the smokey haze of burning forest, the mouth-watering lure of charred meat, the sharp pang of fear. Fear of him, as men and elves and dwarves ran for their lives. Good smells. Good dream. But it had been a real smell that had woken him. Something that didn't belong.

Could it be an intruder? A spy or thief or would-be dragon slayer? He ran a long, forked tongue over a row of razor-sharp, knife-like teeth. It had been years since he'd last eaten, and there'd be immense entertainment in putting the fear of Smaug into their heart before he incinerated them. But no. It didn't smell right.

Could it be... that time again? A whole year passed by? He sniffed the air once more. Yes, there was no doubt about it. An acrid, fiery scent, not unlike his own, but darker, older, a smell from the depths of the world. And it was getting stronger. It was coming closer.

Smaug rose up sluggishly on four legs and stretched his long neck, his longer tail, his enormous leathery wings which when unfolded could only barely fit within the huge old hall. He thought about his visitor with some relish. Yes, it was exactly what he needed: a chance to let loose his full power, to get a little exercise and really enjoy himself and then perhaps nap for another year.

But, maybe to give it a surprise? Quickly he wormed down into the heaped golden hoard, burying his long-jawed head, then his snakelike neck, next his lithe body armoured in red and golden scales, its underside gleaming with embedded jewels, and finally his great tapering tail, until he was entirely immersed beneath the mound of shining metal. After a brief avalanche of coins, rings and goblets had subsided, silence echoed about the chamber. Deep within the pile, Smaug waited, and listened, smelling his visitor approach.

Soon he could hear it, the distant booming crunch of its footsteps, getting louder, and louder, until he could feel the ground quiver with every one, a steady booming which slowed, and finally, stopped. It had arrived.

Smaug spoke from within the pile, his roaring voice filling the hall. "My, you have climbed a long way to see me, all the way from the deep, uncharted and forgotten places beneath, unsullied by the feet of dwarves and orcs. You must be tired! Why not rest a while? Go on, lie yourself down on my luxurious bed of treasures uncountable and sleep!"

The visitor did no such thing, but instead roared a challenge, a vast deep thundering noise like the death cry of a mountain, and stepped closer, slowly. _Boom. Boom. Boom._ It couldn't know where he was hiding: Smaug knew his voice would echo around the chamber chaotically, seeming to come from every direction at once.

"So, once again it is the turning of the year and you are briefly free from your imprisonment. And once again you come to see me, Smaug the Invisible! And once again you challenge me, and once again you shall lose!"

He knew when it was nearly on top of him: the absolute darkness in the heart of the hoard seemed to get even darker, as though a shadow had seeped into it, something blacker than a mere absence of light. And at that moment he launched himself from the pile at a great speed, teeth and claws bared, in the direction he judged it to be.

The balrog stood in the heart of a vast cloud of shadow which filled half the great old hall, reaching out tendrils into the farthest corners and seeping into cracks and crevices. Its body blazed with fierce red-orange flame, from its two monolithic fire-shrouded feet to its head where a pair of red eyes shone like suns under two evilly curving horns. In one hand it wielded a many-branched whip, each strand glowing white with intense heat.

The dragon hit it full in the chest at the head of an explosion of shining gold and jewels, knocking it flat onto its back with an almighty crash. Four scaled legs wrestled with four flaming limbs. Making the best of his momentary advantage, Smaug grabbed the flaming whip in his jaws and ripped it free from the balrog's grip, flinging it to one side.

Recovering from its surprise, the balrog tore at the dragon's scaled flanks with arms and legs. The searing heat of its grip was no danger to Smaug, a fire drake, who in fact enjoyed the warm tickle of flames, but its great muscles heaved with an irresistible tectonic strength; of all the beings of Arda, only a balrog could best a dragon in a contest of pure power. Smaug tore and bit with teeth and talons, digging into but never leaving a mark on its strangely slippery, evasive flesh. But slowly the balrog was pulling him down, pulling him closer in an embrace which could, if it went any further, squeeze the very life out of him.

He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with air, feeling it transform into something hot and potent inside of him. Flame flickered at the back of his throat. Beneath him, the balrog opened its maw, and he could see the fire inside of it, building up, from orange to red to blinding white...

Smaug dropped his head to meet the balrog in a forceful and passionate kiss. As he did so they both unleashed the full force of their fire, the two streams of livid flame mingling in their mouths, escaping between their lips in violent jets, flowing back into them, filling them with their shared burning heat. When that first fire had died away, he took another breath and let it out slowly, pushing the burning gas deep into the balrog's throat. When the balrog replied in kind he inhaled, letting the searing, sulphuric vapour flow into him, caressing him from the inside.

Whilst they kissed, Smaug never once stopped clawing at the balrog's side, neither did the balrog loosen its grip on Smaug. For dragons, as for balrogs, passion is inseparable from violence, and lust merely fuelled by mutual hatred.

Smaug felt his blood flow hotter and faster. And a pressure in his loins, as of something trying to break free. He relaxed, letting his long, scaled member unfurl and stiffen below him; and he felt it touch something else, something thick and potent and red hot: the balrog's own erect shaft.

He pulled back from the kiss and regarded the balrog below him with a belittling stare. His feet paused in their clawing and merely dug in deeply.

"Two great swords swing in the hands of their masters," he hissed, pulsing his loins to rub his own cock tauntingly against the balrog's, "both yearning to thrust deep into flesh, again and again and again, until they drip with blood. Only one will get the chance, and it is their masters' speed and skill and strength in battle that will decide."

The balrog growled, a deep menacing throb that shook through the stone floor. Balrogs didn't speak in any tongue, but Smaug knew it understood.

"Do you still believe you can best me, my fiend? Admirably optimistic! But naive! Did you know I am not called Smaug the Impenetrable for nothing?"

Determined to prove him wrong, the balrog tried to pull him forwards enough to bring his rear in line for a penetrating thrust. But Smaug hadn't been as foolish as to land on him in such a way as would allow that, and despite its great strength it found the lock of their limbs to make the task impossible. Smaug stayed quite still, gazing down with a mocking gleam in his eyes.

The balrog roared, and with a great thrust of its limbs threw the dragon bodily to one side, where he landed heavily on his back, wings spread on either side. In a moment it was on its feet and in a single bound was on top of him, flaming legs straddling his upturned jewel-encrusted belly. But it hadn't been quick enough, and already the dragon was writhing free, making it impossible for it to get the grip it needed to hold him down, worming agilely out of its grasp.

Now they stood apart, tense, circling each other slowly. The balrog flamed and roared from its angry cloud of shadow, a creature of primal rage and primal lust. Smaug paced menacingly, wings half opened, claws clicking on the stone floor, never taking his eyes from his opponent. He was enjoying himself; sexual desire coursed through his veins, and the balrog's rough treatment of him made him feel _alive_.

Periodically, the balrog would leap for the dragon and try to hold him down, but Smaug was too quick and always managed to squirm or fight free, or dodge out of the way of the attack completely. Or Smaug would see an opportunity to lay low the balrog and leap to attack, but always it managed to fend him off and push him away, and they went back to circling.

"Do you know _why_ I always win these little tussles of ours, my fiend? Even though you have the advantage in brute strength? It's because I'm faster than you are. Faster, and _cleverer_."

The balrog roared. Smaug roared back, the two sounds competing in volume, in ferocity, in blood-curdling chill.

"Now, I'm a reasonable dragon. I'm willing to talk about things, to take your feelings into thought. So, how would you like me to take you this year? With the force and fury of a volcano, or with the slow, ever so slow persistence of water cutting through rock? Or maybe you'd prefer one, then the other?"

The balrog charged him, accelerating to a blinding speed in three great bounds, a blazing fireball dragging a cloak of darkness behind it. Just before it was upon him, Smaug ducked to one side, swinging his tail in a whirling arc that caught the balrog's legs and sent it crashing to the floor.

He leapt onto its back, shrieking in triumph. The balrog may have been stronger, but he knew he could hold it down in such an advantageous position. Still, it wasn't easy. Its flesh had the consistency of molten rock, letting his talons slide viscously through and then oozing itself back seamlessly together, making it hard to keep a firm grip. And the shadowy aura flickered around him, upsetting his sense of balance. He fought vehemently to make his hold secure, but felt it slipping away.

Suddenly, he found himself being thrown roughly to one side, narrowly recovering just in time to prevent himself being pinned under the balrog, which had been quick to jump after him. Reaching down, it picked up the flaming whip which had lain there since the dragon had ripped it from its hand.

"What's the matter?" crooned Smaug. "Do you not feel capable of bringing me down without a weapon? Well, be my guest, if you think it gives you a chance."

The balrog cracked the whip, its burning thongs drawing white arcs of fire through the air before hitting the floor with a speed and heat that left black scorch lines across the stone. It advanced on the dragon and he backed away, leaving just enough distance between them so that when it swung the whip, the trajectory of the glowing tendrils stopped slightly short of the tip of his snout.

He led the balrog right out of the hoard room into an adjoining chamber almost as large, cluttered with charred and broken remnants of dwarven furniture. A narrow stone staircase arched up to an upper level in a single straight span. As soon as he was fully inside, Smaug darted back from his opponent, spread his wings and thrust upwards into the air, each beat pushing him higher, the wingtips brushing the stone walls on each side, until finally he came to land at the very top of the stairs. The balrog moved to the bottom of the stairs, whip in hand, and stared up at the dragon, the long flight of steps between them.

Smaug shouted down to it. "Worthy foe! It seems you have me on the run! But I'm _ever_ so good at running, you'll simply never catch me. So I _could_ run and run, taunting you for all eternity or until the mountain crumbles around us, or..." He turned his back, spread his rear legs and raised his tail high into the air. "...or we can end this now, the only way it can end. So come on, my fiend, come on up and take me!"

The balrog bellowed and ran up the steps. Its eyes never wavered from the object of its lust, which the dragon now waved from side to side tantalisingly. But the stairs, as Smaug well knew, were old and in ill repair, and never in the first place designed to take the weight of a balrog. As it reached about half-way up there was a loud crack, and the whole midpart of the flight crumbled and collapsed beneath its feet. Its hands scrambled for purchase but there was nothing firm to grab onto and it fell, screaming in rage, landing heavily face-down on the floor amidst a field of debris and dust. As quick as it could it started climbing back to its feet, but it was again knocked flat, this time by several tons of horny dragon landing on its back.

Smaug wrestled and clawed, and quickly established a hold he was sure the balrog could not break free from. "My fiend," he said, "I'm frankly disappointed! To fall for _such_ an obvious trick! I thought I was going to have _much_ more fun with you before I found myself in this position." He let the scaled shaft of his cock rub against the balrog's opening, as though reminding it of what was to come. "Still, I plan to sodomise you at a nice leisurely pace, so you'll have plenty of time to think about where you went wrong, and maybe you'll do better next year?"

Confident of his control over the struggling balrog, he decided to taunt it a little before entering it. Curling his long tail upon itself he brought it round to touch its rump, and he pushed the pointed tip just slightly through its tight opening, probing, feeling the flesh inside, as hot and semi-liquid as the outside. By the time he withdrew, the struggling balrog was screaming and spitting fire; perhaps from rage, perhaps from something else. Just the way he liked it.

But then Smaug made a mistake. He shifted position minutely, putting him at a more comfortable angle for penetration; that slight shift gave the balrog a chance to move one of its hands that had been trapped underneath it. Smaug had assumed that it couldn't move enough to upset his dominant hold, but he'd forgotten what it still gripped between its fingers...

Fine threads of white fire whipped over the balrog's shoulder. Smaug felt the thongs land fast and hot across his back, the base of his wings and his neck: burning lines of searing heat. It felt _wonderful_. He shrieked in pleasure, and in that moment of surprise and lapsed concentration the balrog broke from under him. With the dragon trapped between it and a wall, preventing escape, it landed blow after blow with the whip, making him stagger and moan under the rain of flaming tendrils.

Smaug gloried in the onslaught, the whip raking lines of stinging pain and singing pleasure across his back, his legs, his neck and head, his tail, never cutting through his almost impenetrable scaly armour. But he was not as overcome as he let himself appear. The shuddering, the mewling moan escaping from his throat, the way he started to curl in upon himself, all were affected. Let the balrog think he was paralysed with the sensation, and move in to mount him without caution! He writhed on the spot, turning the slightly more sensitive flesh of his jewelled underside towards the whip, to heighten his own enjoyment.

It was another mistake. A particularly vicious crack of the thongs landed across his groin, lines of fire flashing across the scales of his attentive penis. His eyes bulged. His body shook. His mouth opened to shriek but no sound came out. He just had time to wonder if the balrog could be persuaded to do it again, and then it was baring down upon him, trying to mount him with just as little caution as he'd anticipated. Unfortunately, he was now quite genuinely paralysed with sensation and could do little to resist.

The balrog held him flat on his back on the floor, his wings spread uselessly to either side, with its legs locked round his back legs and its arms pushing down on his chest. He struggled and snapped and clawed and spurted his hottest fire, but it was useless: the hold was unbreakable. The balrog shifted its hips slightly, adjusting itself to bring the tip of its cock, a thick tower of flaming flesh whose exact size and shape seemed elusive, into contact with his anus...

"My fiend! You've won at last!" Smaug forced his body to go limp, as though surrendering. "Please feel free to claim your reward and desecrate me, and I'll take it without resistance, BUT," he interjected urgently as the balrog seemed about to begin right at that moment, "I'd ask just one thing of you. When you take me, could you do so without breaking my dignity beforehand? If you were to, say, violate me with a finger before you began, I don't think I could _bear_ the indignity."

The balrog paused as though thinking, and then lifted one of its arms from the dragon's chest. It extended a single broad finger, almost hidden in a shroud of flame, and touched his anus, gently at first and then pushing firmly inside.

Smaug gasped as he was penetrated for the first time, feeling the heat and pressure of the digit tickle his insides strangely but agreeably. It was better than he'd thought it would be. But he had absolutely no intention of trying it out with the balrog's cock. Gently he tested its reduced, one-handed hold on his chest, without making it obvious what he was doing. Still too strong. He needed to get it to take the other hand off too.

"Oh my fiend, you are too cruel! Was I ever this cruel to you? But at least you have spared me one indignity. At least you have not tried to put in _two_ fingers, one from each hand, for that is my greatest fear, and if you were to do that I would wake _weeping_ from nightmares of it for years to come!"

The second hand lifted from his chest, and a second finger extended. Smaug didn't react straight away, he had to wait for his moment. And besides, he wanted to know what it felt like. The second finger was pushed with some difficulty into the tight opening alongside the first. He groaned as he felt himself stretched wide to take it, a stab of discomfort more than compensated for by the divine feeling of the girth of two fingers inside him, probing in two different directions, making his blood race and his cock stand firmer than ever, so firm it ached.

Something new came to Smaug then: a desire to do nothing at all, to let the balrog probe him and then let it thrust itself deep into him. What would it feel like? It surely must be glorious. But something else competed with the thought: his desire to _win_. Like any dragon, he could not bring himself to intentionally lose any game.

And so when he judged his moment, he threw himself forwards, teeth and talons bared, his unrestrained front half springing up to meet the balrog. At the same time he _squeezed_ tightly around its fingers, for a brief moment stopping it from pulling them out to defend itself. Its balance was lost, and it toppled backwards off him.

Smaug didn't immediately leap to attack but extended his wings and flapped once again upwards, coming to a rest on the floor above, near to the top of the broken stairs. "Thank you, my fiend," he called down, "I really enjoyed our little moment down there. I could have broken free any time, you must realise, but you were doing such _wonderful_ things to me. Why don't you come up and see me? Or, could it be that you lack my powers of flight?"

The balrog stared upwards, silently. It crouched, legs and back bent, flames burning dimmer but somehow hotter, shadowy aura drawn close and dense. And then it leapt, uncoiling itself with an elastic thrust to launch straight upwards at great speed, a single bound landing it on the very edge of the upper floor, next to the dragon. Smaug thundered bodily into it, chest to chest, limbs entwined, cock pressed against cock, and met its mouth in a fiery kiss. The momentum sent the balrog stumbling backwards, teetering, and then falling, both of them, kissing and tearing at each other as they fell.

They hit the floor with a booming thud that cracked the solid stone, but stayed entwined, kissing and clawing and ripping and squeezing, a saturated bundle of consuming flaming passion. They rolled, now Smaug on top, now the balrog, kissing and kissing as though each one's quest to infiltrate the other lay forgotten beneath the urgent need to touch and be touched. But quite suddenly the dragon made a move to squirm into a position of advantage behind the balrog, and the balrog, with a quick reaction as though it had been expecting such a move from the beginning, threw him off.

As Smaug regained his feet, the balrog charged, eyes blazing with intent, whip swirling above its head, its shadowy aura boiling around it. He ran from it, back into the treasure room; the balrog was fast, but he was faster, his legs pumping the floor, wings beating to push him along more rapidly, half flying, half running, always just fast enough to keep it right behind his tail.

Smaug ran nimbly over his treasure pile. The balrog followed at full speed and immediately floundered on the unfamiliar surface, plates and coins sliding under its feet, nevertheless its momentum carried it forward, half embedding it face-down in the shifting golden mass. Smaug beat his wings, thrusting into the air, curving upwards, and over, performing a tight vertical loop to land him perfectly on the back of the beached balrog.

The struggle was brief. The heaped gold hampered the balrog's movements, and Smaug had soon relieved it of its whip and secured a good grip from which there seemed little prospect of escape.

"How are you enjoying my bed? Comfortable, isn't it? And beautiful! And everything on it is mine. Including, it would seem, you."

He let his penis settle into the needed position, its tip pressed against the balrog's opening. "You did quite well, you know. If I'd been a lesser dragon, and not Smaug the Magnificent, it would probably be you about to skewer me right now. But, as things are..."

Smaug's cock was long and rigid and entirely plated in red-golden scales. He had to push quite hard to pierce the balrog's tight opening, but after that it slid in relatively smoothly, all the way, until his groin pressed against its flaming buttocks. He moaned, relishing the delicious tightness and soft warmth around his shaft. The balrog let out a scream like tortured rock as it went in and then stopped struggling completely, as though acknowledging defeat.

"There, my fiend, that's it, relax. We'll take it nice and slow. I wouldn't want to hurry when you are, as always, providing such _excellent_ hospitality."

Smaug began, thrusting slowly but deeply in smooth motions. He purred with pleasure. The balrog let out nothing but a quiet, barely audible rumble from the back of its throat. Smaug dropped his head to the back of its own and ran his tongue across the molten surface.

"Every year you challenge me, and every year I win." _Thrust. Thrust. Thrust_. "And yet, every year you come back to lose again." _Thrust. Thrust. Thrust_. "And I know why. You _love_ this." _Thrust. Thrust. Thrust_. "I can feel it. Your pleasure. It _burns_ through you. You stink of it." _Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust_.

As Smaug approached a climax he slowed down, rather than speeding up, drawing out the waves of scalding pleasure coursing through him. Drawing out the wonderful squeezing sliding sensation as he pushed in and out. Drawing out the feeling of the balrog's burning heat caressing his chest, his legs, his tongue, his groin, his cock. And most of all, drawing out the feeling of _winning_ , of pumping his victory into a defeated foe.

He let out a rasping shriek as he came, ecstasy searing through him hotter than any flame, claws digging deeper into the balrog's unresisting flesh. As he slowed and finally stopped, the balrog carried on with its low rumbling hum of pleasure.

They lay together at length, still and silent, Smaug's tongue sometimes flicking out to caress the back of the balrog's neck. At last he pulled himself free and dismounted, and offered a leg to help the balrog slowly to its feet. It stood, flaming brightly, its cock rising proud and dancing with flame. But Smaug knew, from years of experience, that it would make no move against him now. It had been defeated. He let it reach out a hand to take his cock, its fingers wiping it clean of come, and then turned his back on it, nestling sleepily down on the top of his hoard.

"Glorious, my fiend, glorious. Such a shame you must go home unsated yet again, but there's always next year, hmm? Maybe it'll be the year you finally take me?"

Suddenly there were strong burning hands grasping his tail, pulling him sharply backwards. Too surprised to do anything else, as he found himself pulled free from the treasure pile he dug four sets of claws into the floor, scoring four sets of shrieking grooves into the stone. He snarled in shock and anger: it couldn't do this! He'd _beaten_ it! But by the time he recovered his senses the balrog was on top of him, its legs pinning down his rear, one hand on the scales between his wings, keeping his jewelled chest and belly pressed hard against the floor, making movement impossible, the other hand lifting up his tail.

"What's this? Being beaten once wasn't enough for you? You want me to take you _again_?"

Smaug had never before imagined that he might lose. His vanity didn't allow it. Even now, hopelessly pinned in a compromising position by the balrog, he was confident in the ability of his cunning and insidious tongue to talk himself free. He bent round his long neck to address it eye to eye.

"My fiend, I..." But before he could say any more the balrog shot out a hand to clasp around his jaws and hold them tightly shut.

Smaug fumed. He struggled, he heaved, he squirmed, he beat his wings, he whirled his tail, but it was no good. The balrog finally had him at its mercy and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

As it moved to position its cock against his rump, it resumed the deep rumbling throb of pleasure from the back of its throat. Smaug stared aghast into two red eyes blazing with lustful intent. Aghast that he'd been _tricked_ into relaxing his guard completely. Tricked by a mere _balrog_!

He didn't stop struggling. As the balrog tried to push inside him he squeezed himself closed as tightly as he could, a battle between his clenched muscles and the broad, blazing tip of the balrog's insistent shaft. It was a close thing; the surface of its cock seemed as slippery and unsolid as the rest of it, and it was never more than a momentary lapse of effort from penetrating the sphincter and sliding irresistibly in. But as he felt the pressure ease, and saw the balrog slump forwards as though exhausted, Smaug knew he had won and exulted.

It was another trick. As the dragon gloried in his perceived victory, the balrog thrust its hips forwards violently, penetrating him in a single motion. Smaug shuddered and tried to cry out as the massive molten member forced itself into him, stretching him wide; a flash of pain and shock quickly subsided to give way to immense indignation barely masking immense satisfaction. The pressure, the burning heat, the sheer _size_ of it inside him exhilarated him. He knew he should be spitting with rage, but found himself falling still, no longer struggling but just lying there relishing the sensation.

The balrog released his mouth from its grip, and stroked its fingers fondly across the back of his head and his neck. Smaug said nothing. There was nothing to say.

He moaned as the balrog began pushing in and out, slowly, oozing hotly back and forwards inside him, driving him wild. Staring into its eyes, he willed it to go faster, and gradually it did, the thrusts building in speed and power and pleasure. Smaug gaped, overcome by the heightening sensation, no sound escaping from his mouth beyond a low gurgling purr. The balrog's steady throaty rumble of pleasure gave way to a pulsing roar of rapture, echoing thickly round the chamber.

At last Smaug's voice joined it, wailing wordlessly. The balrog was still gaining speed and power, hammering itself into him, each thrust a jolt of burning heat and burning force and burning pleasure. Smaug found himself trying to move his hips in rhythm with its pounding cock, and felt his own shaft again stiffening beneath him. The balrog beat relentlessly, faster and faster, harder and harder, its flames burning hotter and hotter, its roar screaming louder and louder, the dragon quivering and wailing and gasping, until it came, and Smaug felt its searing hot seed spurt into him, again and again and again.

After the balrog's thrusting had subsided, it released the dragon and pulled itself free. They faced each other and shared a tired and tender kiss.

"I won," Smaug insisted shakily, "remember that I won. I always win, and I always will! That... was just a consolation prize."

The balrog lifted him gently into its arms, without resistance, and deposited him carefully on top of his bed of gold. Turning, it began the long walk back to the dark depths in which it lived.

"I look forward to beating you again next year!" called the dragon. And then quieter, to himself: "but maybe, once I've spent myself again in your worthless defeated body, I'll let you have another consolation prize."

When the balrog had gone, and nothing remained of it but lingering scents of stagnant fire and sex, Smaug snuggled down on his golden bed and closed his eyes. As he drifted into sleep, he felt sore and stretched and thoroughly satisfied.

 


End file.
